« ПретходнаНастави »
That lane sloped, much as the bottles do,.
From a house you could descry O’er the garden-wall: is the curtain blue
Or green to a healthy eye?
To mine, it serves for the old June weather
Blue above lane and wall; And that farthest bottle labelled “ Ether”
Is the house o'er-topping all.
At a terrace, somewhat near its stopper,
There watched for me, one June, A girl: I know, sir, it ’s improper,
My poor mind 's out of tune.
Close by the side, to dodge
They styled their house “ The Lodge.”
What right had a lounger up their lane ?
But, by creeping very close, With the good wall's help,—their eyes might
strain And stretch themselves to Oes,
Yet never catch her and me together,
As she left the attic, there,
And stole from stair to stair,
And stood by the rose-wreathed gate. Alas,
We loved, sir—used to meet : How sad and bad and mad it was
But then, how it was sweet !